Merry Christmas, Budapest!

The sad truth is I’ve become a bit lazy in regards to this poor blog. Since my last entry, I have gone to Istanbul and Edirne for Thanksgiving, my mom and her special someone Gary have visited (meaning another trip to Istanbul), and I’ve flown to Budapest for Christmas (via, once again, Istanbul). I’ll never come anywhere close to catching up, however unless I just skip ahead a bit and dive straight in to my latest Budapest adventure.

It all began last Wednesday. After work, I flew to Istanbul for one last night with Mom and Gary, along with one last free dinner and one last free night in an actual hotel. The next morning was Christmas Eve. I met up with my friends Natalie, Christa, and Maggie for our afternoon flight and arrived in Budapest a little after dark. Once at our hostel, we found ourselves being offered a free dinner of delightfully traditional Hungarian goulash and mulled wine for dessert. Two of the things I had been the most excited about for the trip, and I had them both within three hours of arriving. Goulash is essentially a hearty stew of beef, potatoes, and root vegetables all melting together in a savory red paprika-seasoned broth. If you don’t know what mulled wine is, well, that’s just a shame.

Christmas morning we ventured forth to the Christmas Market in one of the main squares of the city. Just as I had experienced in France, it was full of miniature log cabin-esque booths selling delicious foods and various crafty gifts. It being Christmas, however, most were closed.All the same, we found one selling coffee and mulled wine, which comprised our entire Christmas morning breakfast.

We made our way to the Danube, past the intricate parliament building, and to the basilica, where morning mass was just getting out. It was a beautiful basilica, but oddly enough the marble on the interior looked surprisingly new and shiny. I later discovered the building has been victim of a long series of disasters, from the dome collapsing several times to an earthquake, and a fire may have been in the picture as well. We vowed to come back for evening mass and sat ourselves down for a relaxing lunch of (surprise surprise!) more goulash at a nearby café, followed by chocolate cake and a cappuccino.

Once at the Christmas market again, more booths were open, and we stumbled upon pure deliciousness: a pastry made by rolling dough onto a metal cylinder, cooking it over a fire so that the sugar and butter that coats it caramelizes, then covered in your choice of toppings. We agreed on cinnamon, and it was glorious. Very crunchy on the outside, slightly doughy on the inside. We had another the next day.

Next, it was time to explore the other side of the river, Buda. We walked across one of the city’s numerous bridges only to walk along the river to the famous Chain Bridge and cross back over. The bridge was admittedly beautiful, with lions guarding either end, and a low fog rolling out across the river to give it an exceptionally timeless feel.

Mass was at 6:00, and we did indeed make it back in time. The hour long event was, of course, held in Hungarian, and I didn’t understand a lick of the evidently stoic and pious sermon. It was mesmerizing to see the beautiful basilica in use, but all the same, I was ready for dinner when the last amen was spoken.

After a non-traditional Christmas dinner of bean soup at a British pub, it was time to hike up the highest hill in the city. At this point, it was cold, dark, and extremely windy. My guesstimate is that it took about 40 minutes to reach the top, but the view was well worth the effort. The entire city lay in front of us, lit up in all its beauty. I could see Buda Palace, Parliament, the Chain Bridge, and the basilica without so much as a turn of my head.

After a good night’s sleep back at the hostel, we decided it was time for a slightly more substantial breakfast. We went to a delicious bakery/patisserie by the name of Gerbaud, where I enjoyed a coffee and a many layered mysterious pastry. Next up was a hike to the palace, which is on the top of yet another hill. The palace is now a serious of museums and cafes, so we enjoyed the exterior architecture and opted instead for the underground labyrinth a few blocks away. It was originally constructed as a safe harbor for Buda’s citizens during periods of invasion, was then converted into a wine cellar, and is now a museum dedicated to dim lights and eerie music. The different corridors were lined with the occasional statue in human form, just realistic enough to make us jump a bit. The strangest part was an unexpected fountain at one of the dead ends that trickled red wine in lieu of water. By the time we finished, it was high time for a hearty lunch at the Christmas market.

Our next leg of the trip was a walk to Hero’s Square, located on the Pest side a significant distance from our hostel. Natalie swore it would be a 15 minute walk based on the map; my estimate of 45 minutes was much closer. After a 50 minute walk across the city, we feasted our eyes upon a large bronze statue of horses and their apparently important riders in the center of an open square, ornamented in the background by more bronze statues of historical figures. The time was ripe for pictures as dusk approached and the moon rose on the far side of the square, and we seized the opportunity. On one side of the plaza was the city’s art museum. We attempted to enter, but decided the fee was beyond our budgets and opted instead for the gift shop. This time we took a taxi back to the hostel, where we enjoyed some down time before a night of researching Budapest’s bar scene.

Our flight was at noon Sunday, so we woke up and went straight to the airport. It took a two hour flight and a seven hour bus ride, but we eventually made it back to Ankara in time for a slender night of sleep.

Van and Beyond

In honor of a national holiday (Republic Day) on October 29, there was no school this past Thursday and Friday. To celebrate, myself and six friends flew to the far eastern entrails of Turkey, to a small city located a stone’s throw from Iran, called Van (pronounced “Vahn”). In my last post, I briefly mentioned what Van is famous for, especially the lake and the breakfast. Thursday morning we experienced both. As our plane descended towards the tiny Van airport, the view from our small windows was of nothing other than that grand lake itself. At first glance, I thought we were flying above the ocean, and was momentarily extremely confused by our flight path. When I realized what I was actually looking at, I was awestruck. Its milky, turquoise-blue waters extended from the eastern shore to striking mountain sides on the north and south. Whether it was the fault of the cloud cover or just its true size, its western shore was indistinguishable. My face was so fiercely glued to the window that it practically hurt to tear myself away and de-board the plane.

After a short walk and dolmus ride to the center of town, we followed a few Van locals to an assuradely good breakfast place. It did not disappoint. Moments after we sat, a waiter asked us if we wanted “khavalti,” the Turkish word for breakfast.

Without delay, small plate after small plate appeared on our table. Olives, cheese, eggs and meat, scrambled eggs and almond butter, an herbed cheese spread, and the piece de resistance, a strange sheet of clotted cream topped with honey and ground almonds. All this was served with piles of warm lavash, or flat bread, and as much tea as one could drink. We all ate until we feared our stomachs would burst, then ate some more. All for the grand price of roughly $7.

After breakfast, we checked into our hotel, Otel Aslan, complete with peeling paint, filthy bathrooms, and blankets that looked as though they had never seen soap in their clearly long lives. It was not exactly somewhere we wanted to hang out and relax, but that wasn’t what the trip was about anyway. Instead, we were off to Van Castle, built a very long time ago on a high rocky outcrop overlooking the lake. Nothing was roped off, a fact we enjoyed lavishly as we meandered about and climbed to its highest points. The sun sets very early in the east, so as we sat on the crumbling castel walls, we were further entertained by the light of the low sun bouncing off that enormous lake, towards us, turning the puddles on the bumpy terrain far below us into shimmering, golden mirrors.

The downside to the early sunset was that there is very little to do in Van after dark. We ate some delicious varieties of baklava, followed by some very good and very cheap doner (in case we died before dessert, as Grandpa would say), at which point we were at a total loss as to what we should do. Oddly enough, in this conservative, underdeveloped little city, we ended our night with some video games, much to my despair.

The next morning we woke up early to a gray and chilly sky and took a bus to Dogubeyazit, an even smaller town even further east, just 30 minutes from Iran. Still on the outskirts of town, we were welcomed by Mt. Ararat, Turkey's tallest mountain. Standing at over 16,000 feet, peak hidden in clouds, this alleged keeper of Noah’s Ark lived up to its name, literally “mountain of pain.” We couldn't even make out its peak for the clouds that covered it. Once in town, we visited another castle, built much more recently but complete with ornate carvings and a beautiful, crumbling mosque.

The castle had open windows on nearly all sides, and from its location at the top of a hill, we had an incredible view of the town and countryside below us. The only disappointment was that Mt. Arrarat was blocked by a rocky hill. After lunch and tea, we hopped back on a bus to Van, where we once again ate doner and baklava (in its normal order), then played tavle (backgammon) and drank yet more tea at a small café.

By Saturday, it was high time for another Van breakfast. Fearful of disappointment, we returned to the same restaurant and again stuffed ourselves silly. Next up was a trip to Akdamar, a small island on the lake known for its millennium-old Armenian church and the remains of a monastery. We took a short ferry ride to the island, and were soon after awestruck by its quaint beauty. The church itself was quite small and made of stone. Its interior was covered in fading blue murals depicting bibilical stories. Just as in Europe, its stone walls were pockmarked by crosses I can only assume were left by crusaders. Its outside was even more

remarkable. Its ornate carvings included the only known depiction of Jonah and the Whale where the whale is actually a chimera. Behind the church was a beautiful old cemetery, and beyond it extended a high rocky outcrop, which we of course had to climb. Once at the top, we could see the entirety of the island and shore and mountains from which we came, as well as that ever-extending lake behind us. It was quite cloudy and cool, but while we were up there the sun slowly, and just ever so slightly, broke through some of the clouds to shine on the mountains down below.

We retunred to Van for some late lunch, then went in search of the Cat House, located at the university outside of town. Van is home to a special variety of cats that is slowly dying out. They are distinguishable by their white fur, different colored eyes (often one blue and one green), and joy of swimming. This special house was built in an attempt to revitalize the population, although it doesn’t seem to be very effective. It turned out that this Cat House was merely a building with outdoor pens on either side full of separated male and female cats. They can run in and out of the building as they wish, and kittens are kept in their very own rooms. While the intention is undoubtedly good, it just struck me as unnatural to keep so many cats together in one place, largely void of human affection. It goes without saying that they very much enjoyed our company. Natalie was particularly overcome with cat love as we oohed and awed at their every move.

Back in the city, we ate a little dinner, then went to a café to watch a Turkish League football game. The room was filled with small stools and men, all staring up at a TV screen in the corner. It was a terrible game really, and after it I just wanted to go relax at the dingy hotel and read my book.

Sunday morning was our last chance for that glorious breakfast, so we gobbled it up and then waddled over to the Van Museum, which was grossly underwhelming, but free.

Across the street from the museum were several Turkish carpet shops, and Jamie was far too curious to pass them up. We all went in and were served tea as the vendor unfolded rug upon rug for our viewing pleasure. They were actually quite reasonably priced, especially when compared to what they would cost at home, and Jamie and Natalie both ended up buying one. The more time we spent there, the more tempted I became to enter the bidding, but my bank account kept screaming in the back of my head for me to resist.

And so, after a flight back to Ankara, a traffic-ridden bus ride, and a taxi to campus, our trip ended and it was back to work.

Halloween and a Birthday

It’s been a relatively calm weekend, proceeded by a relatively calm week. I only had to teach two days this week due to university exams and our own form of teacher training. This, combined with the fact that I’m trying very hard to take some time off from running due to some heel issues, means I’ve had a lot of energy left over at the end of the day and not many outlets for it. This isn’t to say I haven’t been busy.

Friday night was our tribute to Halloween. We all decided to celebrate it a week early because we have Thursday and Friday off this coming week, which of course translates into “everyone will be traveling.” We collectively held a party of sorts in our apartment building, which involved a parade of ridiculous costumes done on the cheap. It is, after all, the end of the month, and the wallets are looking a little thin. I saw it as an opportunity to use up some creative juices, so my friend Joe and I switched clothes and went as each other. As it turned out, we are amazingly close in size. Even our shoes were shareable. All night long my friends kept taking second glances to decide who I was (the shorter of my friends; shoulders and up it was rather obvious). Joe was a little more obvious in his tank top and skinny jeans, but the effect was nevertheless fairly hilarious.

I actually had to wake up Saturday morning to run a little race on campus. I had plenty of second thoughts as I laced up my running shoes; after all, who runs the morning after Halloween? It’s just like those New Year’s runs. You see all those runners lined up, generally looking fresh and healthy, and just know that they didn’t have that fantastic of a New Year’s Eve. I did have a pretty decent Halloween, and jogging to the starting line was not the most comfortable 400 meters I’ve ever run. But it was only 2.5 kilometers. And there weren’t many women. And all finishers would receive a free t-shirt. The deal sealer, however, was hearing that the top three men and women would receive medals. In other words, I ran it, highly motivated and with an unhappy tummy, and managed to come in second for women, directly behind Aisha. Joe came in first for men, and between us and our other friends no Turks were on the winners podium for our age group. Maybe Americans aren’t so unfit after all…

Saturday night was spent at a traditional Turkish restaurant celebrating our friend Selami’s birthday. He is Turkish and has many, many friends, so the night was filled with good food and good company. Musicians wandered around from table to table, serenading any and all who were willing to smile and clap along. I enjoyed a plate of assorted and somewhat odd mezzes, and raki floated around the table as if it were water. Raki, if you’re not familiar with it, is the national alcohol of Turkey. It’s very similar to the Greek Ouzo and tastes strongly like anise. The proper way to drink it is to first pour the raki in a glass, then add water and an ice cube, a process which creates a cool and cloudy glassful of strong, if diluted, liquor. This is something I learned throughout the night, along with the fact that it has a way of making people very happy and very talkative. There was no shortage of conversations, not in English, Turkish, French, Spanish, or even Polish. Like I said, Selami has many friends.

Other than that, my weekend has been filled with a sudden surge in my Turkish language studies and travel research. I will be going to Van this next Thursday through Sunday, a town on the far east of Turkey known for its breakfasts, lake, and proximity to Iran. (Note: I promise to stay on this side of the border. Really, Mom.) Today I made a trip to the American Embassy to see about getting a second passport to go to Syria in January. After filling out additional paper work and paying $76 and 11 YTL, the many Turkish people working there told me it should arrive in ten days. Excellent.

One other highlight of the week has been the arrival of mandarin season. Satsuma mandarins. They are just as good as at home and very cheap. I think I ate around seven today alone. I’m beginning to think I could live off of mandarins and Turkish coffee alone, which I make every morning on my stove with my very own little Turkish coffee pot. Oh Turkey, you may drive me crazy with all your many meat dishes, but I do love your coffee and fruit. And desserts, of course.

Running from Asia to Europe

This weekend was dedicated to running. That might be a stretch of the truth, but running was certainly the excuse I used to take a train to Istanbul Friday night. The Istanbul Marathon was Sunday, and while I only ran the 15K, it was still the main incentive behind the trip.

I arrived in Istanbul around midnight Friday only to check into my hostel and sleep for seven hours. The hostel was actually a great deal, only 16 lira and two minutes from Istiklaal Street, the most lively street in the city. After a free breakfast at the hostel, a big group of us hunted down the shuttle that was to take us to the marathon expo, where we had to pick up our race numbers and goody bags. There was free food and entertainment (including dancing girls and a fire act), but it was really all about grabbing the goods and moving on to the big and beautiful city. I had already been to Istanbul once, so I skipped the Blue Mosque and the Haggia Sophia in favor of some leisurely café time with Steve, Aisha, Emma, Charlie, and Rom, a slightly imbalance former CSI who now teaches in Istanbul. We drank tea and chatted, then found a great little Thai noodle place, the likes of which are rarely seen in Ankara. By the time we finished, the weather had turned cold and cloudy, so a couple of us ran back to the hostel

for some sweaters and somehow lost the others in the process. We did, however, do an excellent job of exploring the city by foot. I have no idea how long we walked for, but we went all the way down Istiklaal to the Bospherous, across the bridge and into the Spice Bazaar, where giant crowds speaking every language imaginable were bartering for everything from actual spices to Turkish delight and tea sets. Miraculously, I didn’t buy anything, something I severely doubt will happen the next time I visit. I find that there are two ways to go when in a bazaar: either buy and bargain with ferocity (something I can do quite successfully but find extremely exhausting), or soak in the atmosphere. I chose the later, and after trying some excellent free samples of cheese and rose-flavored Turkish delight, we wove our way back out to the street and meandered back across the bridge. I should mention that the bridge is always covered in men with fishing lines drooping down into the Bospherous, and the fish they catch often seems to go directly to the grills of the vendors selling fish sandwiches next to the water. We wandered past the fishermen, back up a very large hill, and onto Istiklaal for some dinner. We hadn’t actually eaten at the Thai noodle place with the others, so we bought some pre-race food there and followed it up with some delicious desserts at a four-story restaurant full of temptation. I chose a baked rice pudding, a traditional and very delicious Turkish dessert, which has me salivating even as I write this. With our early morning in mind, we went to bed shortly thereafter.

Sunday was race day. I woke up at 6:25 to quickly get dressed and catch the shuttle to the starting line with Anika, Elena, and Charlie. It turned out that there was absolutely no need for us to have caught the earlier shuttle, for once we got to the starting line there was nothing for us to do but huddle under an underpass and hide from the rainy morning. I felt like a cold, wet hobo for nearly an hour. Steve and Rom were the only ones among us who were running the full marathon, and the rest of us were divided between the 15K and an 8K fun run. Steve had only trained sparingly, and Rom hadn’t trained at all. Needless to say, they were nervous. I was not. I did a little warm-up, took a few trips to the port-a-potties, and off we went, across the only bridge that goes from Asia to Europe on the only day it is open to pedestrians.

The view was beautiful, with the clouds adjusting themselves over the water and the Blue Mosque in the distance. The entire run was fairly amazing really. I’m beginning to think that the best way to get to know a city is to run a race through it. There weren’t many spectators and the aid stations left something to be desired, but for a 15K it worked well enough.

I finished at 1:16 (which earned me place number 38 among the women entrants) and met Joe, Aisha, and Charlie at the finish line. We waited around for the first marathoners to finish, which didn’t take too long at all, being as they finished in a little over two hours. They were all Ethiopian and absolutely amazing.

Feeling a little envious, we all walked over to a pastry shop for some post-race rewards. As we finished, it began raining again. Joe and Aisha needed to wait for Steve and Rom to finish, so we parted ways. However, all of the public transportation was closed for the race, and the bridge was closed to cars, so I had the privilege of walking back to the hostel in the rain while tired and hungry (I had no money) and wearing running clothes. I’m sure I quite the sight, especially once I put on the yellow poncho I was given at the finish line. My shower felt divine.

Once clean and dry, we met Maggie, Christa, and Natalie at a bar. They had only ran the 8K and were enjoying a round of mojitos from which I abstained. Somehow alcohol doesn’t sound so great after running nine miles. Their company was entertaining enough, and eventually the more sober among us peeled away in search of coffee and food. I shared a special potato dish with Natalie that is basically a form of Turkish fast food. The potato innards are mashed up and mixed with butter and cheese, put back in the skins, and topped off with the goodies of your choosing so that the entire dish looks like a massive pile of goo. I have no idea what Natalie chose for toppings, but it was good. By the time we finished and found Christa and Maggie again they were in a very happy place. I think they were at that bar for nearly five hours total. We all had to go back to Ankara that night, however, and Christa had bus reservations with Joe and Aisha, so she went looking for them while the rest of us met up with Selami, a Turkish friend and student at the university, as well as his girlfriend Elizabeth, an American who is teaching English in Istanbul this year. We smoked nargili and played backgammon until it was time to go. Our plan has been to take an overnight train back to Ankara, but there weren’t enough seats available. Fortunately, we were with two experts at the art of transportation between the two cities, and found a bus that got us back at 5am. I slept till noon.

Footbaaaaaaall!

The other day one of my friends here mentioned that he has yet to have a bad day in Turkey. This strikes me as both impossibly bizarre and true. I have had uncomfortable moments, boring classes, and many long and stuffy bus rides, but no bad days. Some random act of kindness or delicious new dessert always succeeds any unenjoyable moments and, more often than not, my memories of the day all end up fantastically happy.

Take Sunday for example. A big group of us bought tickets to a professional soccer game between to Turkish teams, Ankaragucu and Galatasaray, who are apparently archrivals in the world of Turkish soccer. We went into the city early for some lunch and good conversation at a sports bar, then took cabs over to the stadium. It didn’t take but a moment to realize how extremely in the minority I was. As I stood there with my friends, all I could see on all sides were thousands of men decked out in all things soccer: oodles of hats and team scarves and jerseys, as well as a general sea of blue and gold in support of the Ankara team. To get into the stadium, we pushed our way first through a gate where we quickly waved our tickets at police officers, then found our seating block and stood in line for a solid hour and a half as everyone got padded down by security. While ninety minutes is a long time, it passed relatively quickly thanks to the general feeling of excitement that surrounded us. The lowest point of the entire day was when one of my friends felt the repercussions of what we think must have been food poisoning from the night before (caution: don’t eat the mussels they sell on the streets!). Standing in a long line in a crowded and noisy area is no time to feel lightheaded. But after a lot of sitting and several trips to the bathroom, things were looking good enough to get through security and to our seats. The game itself was pathetic for the entire first half, full of wild shots and poor plays, but the fans kept us extremely entertained. The super-fan section was right behind the goal, which was not where we sat, but we had an excellent view of them. They had a cheer for what seemed like every possible situation, and sang it out in a loud wave of manly unison. They had great gestures as well, including arm flapping, scarf waving, head bobbing, and jazz hands. My favorite was when they appeared to be bowing down in worship, arms extended towards the field. By the time the second half rolled around, the game was heating up enough that the wild fans were no longer the main attraction. Our team scored with about fifteen minutes remaining, at which point the riot police who had been patrolling the sides in higher and higher numbers throughout the game seemed to multiply. About five minutes later, our team scored again, and once more nearly two minutes after that! The stadium went wild. The small section of fans for Galatasaray, the visiting team, were on the brink of a true riot. As soon as the game ended and Ankaragucu had clearly won, the Galatasary fans started tearing apart the stadium. The riot police rushed in, helmets on, as stadium seats went flying down towards the field. It was an excellent display of sports fanaticism. They have another game in the city in November and tickets are only around $3. Can’t wait!

To back track a bit, Saturday was another fun-filled day. I went back to Ulus, this time with Charlie, Natalie, and Joe, two short of the same group I went to Antalya with three weeks ago. We did some grocery shopping in the food bazaar, and I bought some excellent white cheese, dates, pomegranates, and some little citrus fruits that are green on the outside, orange on the inside, and taste roughly like a tangerine. Delicious, and all much cheaper than the grocery store. We also went back up to a bazaar that sells everything from clothes to bedding to kitchen supplies, where Natalie bought a scarf and the rest of us got stared at shamelessly. I think we were on our feet from 2:00 to 6:00, and by the time we got back to the apartments we were both exhausted and quite happy with our bounties of fruits and new foods. The true topper, however, came when we met up with some Turkish friends that night who told us quite ardently that we should never go to Ulus. Ulus is certainly a more conservative, poorer pocket of Ankara, but it in no way felt unsafe. This makes me wonder if either we missed something quite vital, or if our friends are in fact quite classist and sheltered. The later strikes me as more likely, being as one of them mentioned that he comes from one of the ten richest families in Ankara and invited us to join the yacht team (I have no idea where one would take a boat in the middle of Turkey). At any rate, our day was wonderful and free of any pick pocketing or stabbing. And my strange little citrus fruits are delicious.

Tomorrow is another six hours of struggle in the classroom. Tuesdays are always difficult to accept, like being forced to eat sauerkraut after an amazing chocolate cake. It is, however, the trade off, and it’s never actually as bad as I expect. I’m learning to focus more on the individual personalities that spice up each class rather than pounding through the lesson plan, which makes it more fun for both me and the students. Last week I had one day where I had too much time at the end of class, so we just talked about idioms for ten minutes. Several of my favorite Turkish idioms include “Don’t mistake a flea for a camel,” in place of our mountains and molehills, and “When walking through the woods, call the bear Uncle until you cross the bridge,” an elongated version of “Don’t burn any bridges.” As long as they’re talking, I’m satisfied. Although coffee is rather important as well.

Exploring the Local Environs

Six weeks in and my weeks still can’t be described as routine. I know what to expect from work at t

his point, and I do experience a certain amount of dread for my six-hour workdays, but even lesson plans I repeat ten times in a row include variety in retrospect, thanks to the many characters that make up my classes. Today, for example, I learned where you can pay 25 YTL for a beer (very expensive!) and was asked on a date. In fact, my students would be the perfect subjects of a research project. I can ask them all the questions I want, and they have to respond. Some days I feel more like I’m the student in a class on Turkish culture than the teacher. This is, however, my version of teaching after a nap, a giant cup of coffee, and a few pieces of chocolate. If anyone had asked me how I liked it yesterday I may have melted into a puddle and refused to give any response other than a weak and pathetic moan. There is a direct correlation between how much I enjoy teaching and how much energy I have.

But after only two days of teaching, I’m halfway through my workweek and the weekend is already in sight. My eventful weekends more than make up for the many peaks and valleys I experience Tuesday through Friday. Last weekend, for ex

ample, began with my first taste of Iskendaar Kebab. Some friends and I went to what is apparently one of the best restaurants in the city for this local specialty, which is essentially a plate of bread cubes covered in sheets of lamb, drizzled with a thin tomato sauce and topped off with boiling butter. And, of course, it wouldn’t be Turkish if there weren’t a pile of yogurt on the side. Long gone are my days of vegetarianism (for now). It was actually quite good, and certainly filling. The night progressed in its typical fashion with a trip to a bar and a dance club, and ended with a very tired Emily.

Saturday was nice and relaxing, with a BBQ as the main event. Sunday, on the other hand, was a day of exploration. After a group breakfast of pancakes grace à Aisha, Kim, Charlie, Christa and I hopped on a bus to Ulus, an older section of the city complete with a castle and bazaars. For three hours we walked our feet off as we searched for photo opportunities, met children who insisted on showing us sketchy ways up narrow alleys, and generally enjoyed a different perspective of Ankara. At first we somehow ended up i

n a very residential area within the castle walls, complete with sagging rooftops and children playing soccer in the streets. Eventually, however, we found our way to the more historic area, where shop windows were bursting with beautiful jewelry and sparkling water pipes. Christa and Kim both bought some jewelry at fairly reasonable prices; I somehow resisted and walked away with nothing more than a free cup of tea. We also happened upon a food bazaar, where you could find everything from honeycomb to cheese to fruit and fish. I have great plans of going back and loading up on all the wonderful foods. It should be good practice for my Turkish numbers as well.

The day did not end here, however. At 5:00 I was due to meet five of my students for coffee in a different area of the city. All four of us ended up going, which actually thrilled the students. We met at a coffee shop called Khave Duneyesi, or Coffee World. It was delightful. It had Turkish and European coffee drinks and an endless supply of beautiful chocolates. I had Turkish coffee and shared in some chocolate fondue. The students were much happier to talk than they normally are in class, and one even read my fortune from the coffee grounds in the bottom of my cup. No bad predictions, thank goodness, only difficult decisions and a turbulent love life. I would expect nothing less.

From there, we voyaged on toward dinner at a cheap restaurant that serves kokarech, a special type of kebab made of sheep intestines. I had tasted it before and opted instead for some mussel dolmas. They were essentially mussel shells stuffed with spice rice, with the mussel meat piled on top. Delicious. I think they may be my new favorite Turkish food.

Monday involved a trip to the campus library, where I found two good Arabic textbooks, a nice long run, and a potluck dinner to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. Then it was back to work. I did make an exciting plane ticket purchase for a trip to Van at the end of October. Van is in the far east of the country, and is considered the Kurdish capitol of Turkey. I have a feeling October is going to fly by. September certainly did!

Quite the Night

This story actually took place nearly two weeks ago, but this website has been down. At any rate, enjoy, and I'll write about this recent past weekend as soon as I get a chance.

Last week I happened upon the granddaddy of all stories. Let me tell it from the beginning.

Friday night I went into the city with Charlie, Joe, Kim, and Natalie and ended up smoking nargili on the patio of the fourth floor of an English-style pub. The nargili was actually very good, much better than any sheesha I ever had in Egypt. While there, Joe and Charlie started chatting with some of the other people on the balcony, including some guy with dreadlocks who wants to be a shaman. We smoked and chatted and relaxed after a long week of work, and finally around 12:30 we were ready to head home.

There is a bus system that runs to and from the school every hour, but one of the guys they had been chatting with offered to drive us back in his car, since it was on his way and he was actually a Bilkent student. In what was in retrospect a moment of poor judgment, the six of us piled into his little new Mercedes. I had the sublime priveledge of sitting on Natalie's lap. I think our driver must have told Charlie to open the glove box, because he did, and inside he found a set of brass knuckles. Incredulous, we all started asking why he had them. His response was simply that you need them in Turkey. I didn't entirely follow the thread of the conversation, but shortly thereafter I was lazily gazing out the side window, in a happy haze, when I noticed a black VW on our right that seemed to be getting rather close. And then it hit us. Not hard, just a very intentional bump, followed by some punches aimed at Joe and Charlie through the open windows of the moving cars! Our driver stopped (in the middle of a very busy road) and five guys jumped out of the other car and dragged him to a grassy divide, where they began punching and kicking him like there was no tomorrow. I was honestly afraid for is life. Joe and Charlie jumped out and ran over, but by the time they got there a bunch of men in business suits were already putting a stop to it. It turned out that these men were, in fact, the police. They all talked with a great deal of animation for quite some time. Us three girls, meanwhile, were glued to the backseat of the car, gazing wide-eyed and without a clue what was actually going on.

Eventually they all got back in the car and everyone headed to the police station. In the car, our driver revealed that he had, in fact, used the brass knuckles on the other guys! Luckily, they got lost in the grass and no one could find them. Once at the Turkish police station, the six of us headed into an office and took a seat. Our driver came and went, talking on and off with the police officers. For whatever reason, I was hard put not to burst out in laughter, and the officers kept having to come over and tell us all to be quiet (everyone was quite interested in piecing everything together). About ten minutes later, they let us all go, along with the guys from the black car. I got to see some very colorful prostitutes on the way out, and we had a police escort for about half the drive back.

By not you’re all wondering what actually happened. I was too. The best that we could figure, our driver had cut off the other car at some point, and their response was to beat him up in the middle of the road. Once at the police station, they discovered that our driver was over the legal level of alcohol (something we had not known) and therefore decided that if he filed charges they would have to charge him with drunk driving. So instead, they just let everyone go. Mind you, they had him get back in his car and drive home over the legal limit, and with six people piled in a car meant for five at the very most.

What a night.

Nearly An Average Week

You could say it hasn’t been the most eventful of weeks, but work aside, it has been far from boring.  We moved on this week from our special little “Welcome to Turkey/Here’s (Briefly) How To Teach” to sitting for hours on end proctoring exams.   No reading, no music, just sitting.  Tuesday we sat for 2 hours, and Wednesday, the crowning glory, we sat for five hours.  Then, Friday, we were placed in our own special Teaching Units.  These units consist of roughly 15 veteran teachers who will be force-feeding students grammar and vocabulary, and about five of us CSIs, which stands not for Crime Scene Investigators but rather blandly for Communication Skills Instructors.  We were given all of Friday to sit in our Teaching Unit (TU) rooms to prepare lesson plans that were already prepared, while the actual teachers went to meetings.  In short, I became very well versed in current events.  We will be doing the same Monday-Wednesday of this week, and Thursday will finally be the big day, D-Day, when we teach our first classes.  Scary stuff.

 On a social scale, however, I’ve had plenty to do.   Perhaps even too much.  Wednesday was the birthday of one of the other CSIs, and a huge group of us went to a campus bar and then back to our apartment building for some Sangria.  This, however, turned out to be nothing compared to Friday.  Some of the Brits in out building planned out the whole evening: a bit of liquid goodness in the apartments, followed by some time at an English Pub-style establishment, followed by a very Turkish dance club with live music.  It was fun, we got home late, and Saturday was painful.  Even more painful considering about six of us had to make our way back in to the city for a medical examination the university requires for insurance purposes.  The appointment was for 10 am…cruel.  I should mention, however, that Turkish doctors offices are much friendlier than their American counterparts.  There was tea.  There was coffee, juice, little packaged cakes, and bread sticks.  It was like a waiting room smorgusboard.  Even better, the doctor we saw encouraged us to smoke!  I think he was only half-joking.

 Today, Sunday, the university treated us to brunch at a very nice restaurant nearby.   There were no pancakes, but there was fresh orange juice, cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumber, honey, bread, Turkish Delight…and I still feel like I’m leaving out half of it.  It was lovely, aside from the bees that seemed to enjoy dive-bombing our table.  Unfortunately, brazen bees seem to be the norm here.  I had three in my room a few days ago and had to call in reinforcements to remedy the issue. 

 We also had a city tour today, courtesy once again of the program.  It was a nice idea, and it did give me slightly better sense of where I’m living, but two hours on a bus on a Sunday, after a large brunch, is naturally a bit rough.  I was happy to see my own apartment again, where I promptly fell asleep reading “The History of Love.” 

Back to work tomorrow!  

A Weekend Away

I thought the beginning of my first weekend in Turkey would mean some rest and relaxation.  I thought wrong, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

For the weekend, the school payed to take our group to Safronbolu, a small town 140 miles to the north.  We took off on a chartered bus Friday after work and arrived just in time for a very late dinner at 9 pm.  We briefly went to a coffee house after dinner, complete with oodles of gorgeous rugs covered with cushions to sit on.  I enjoyed a glass of tea and some Turkish delight, then headed to bed at our lovely hotel, Havuzlu Konagi.  The hotel deserves a description all its own.  It was very old and an example of typical Ottoman architecture.  You enter through a lovely archway to find yourself in a courtyard full of roses and marigolds and tables to sit at.  Directly inside is a beautiful breakfast room whose main claim to fame is a shallow pool/fountain which takes up most of the center.  I stayed in the annex, which had a great deal of creaky wood floors and beautiful ceramic ware adorning the walls.  

After a great nights' sleep and a delicious breakfast of bread, yogurt, halva, tea, watermelon, and a great deal more, I took off exploring the old city.  Safronbolu is a UNESCO World Heritage Sight, and as such it is beautifully preserved yet functional on a daily basis for all who live there.  The narrow cobblestone streets were lined with shops selling everything from Turkish Delight and baklava to coffee sets and beautiful jewelry.  I was very tempted to buy a pair of silver and coral earrings for 30 lira ($1=1.50 YTL), but I resisted and bought instead a much cheaper Turkish coffee pot (think small pot with long handle).  At a saffron shop, an old man convinced six of us to try a glass of saffron tea for free.  It was delicious, sweetened just a touch with honey, and he insisted on taking photos with us.  We ate a lovely lunch of gozleme (a crepe-like bread stuffed with cheese or meat or potatoes), saffron rice, manti (similar to ravioli), and stuffed grape leaves.

After lunch the entire group returned to the bus to drive to Amasra, a small town on the Black Sea coast.  I went for a very salty and buoyant swim, then walked along the high wall that separates the ocean from the man-made bay.  We ate dinner as a group at a seafood restaurant called Mustafa's, where the fish is fried unless otherwise specified, something I was definitely not aware of.   My plate full of Red Mullet gave me sad looks the entire time I ate.  We didn't have much time after dinner before we needed to head back to Safronbolu.

This morning, Sunday, I woke up to have another lovely breakfast before going to three hours of information sessions on teaching English.  Shortly after noon we were liberated, and I went on a hunt for some lunch whereupon I found more gozleme, but very good gozleme.  I bought a beautiful little cotton scarf with a floral print, ate some more baklava, and was back at the bust at 2:30 for our drive back to Ankara.  

It was  a lovely weekend, but I think might be just about ready to slow down a bit this week and stay close to home come Saturday.  I say that now.  We shall see.